


Hunting For Dragons

by conceptofzero



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You should have rolled into battle with a sword Brad, that would have fucking rocked."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting For Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> For #14

“You can say a lot about dragons but at least they appreciate some quality pussy,” Ray says while pissing in the river. Brad has gotten use to the knight’s incoherent ramblings and he lets it wash over him, focusing on getting a fire lit. Ray continues, shaking his cock off and tucking it in his trousers. “They are hard-ass motherfuckers but they get it man. Gold and girls, that’s what’s important, the fine shit in life.” 

“How would you know? The closest you’ve been to a woman was when you were fucking your sister, and we both know a peasant like you thinks a farthing is a fortune.” He strikes his flint and steel together until there’s sparks and smoke and then a small neat fire for their motley band of knights. 

The Stone Monk is listening to them with that little smile on his face. Brad does not particular like it, but his Lordship commanded that they take the monk with them and let him record this event. The Stone Monk has done a lot of listening but not much writing. Brad rather suspects he will be eaten by the dragon. 

Ray collapses on the other side of the fire, his legs all askewed. “Not every man’s lucky enough to have a sister hot as mine. Trombley had to make do with a pig.” 

Trombley looks over at them for a moment before he returns to sharpening his sword. He cares for it more than for any other man in this group. Brad doubt he’ll be eaten by the dragon. A man like Trombley would look eye to eye with a dragon and find kinship in those cold, dead eyes. They might need to worry about what will happen if the dragon feels the same way. Assuming they find the dragon, that is. It’s been two weeks so far and while they’ve seen the aftermath, they’ve not caught any sight of the beast, not even the shadow of it as it flies through the air. 

They haven’t seen the dragon yet, only the trail of destruction left behind. Most people they find alive are terrified of them, expecting the band of knights to finish them off and take what little they have. One villager gave them the goat earlier, and Brad still isn’t certain if it was meant to be a gift to keep the knights from killing him, or if the man thought he wouldn’t keep it either way and so gave it up early to protect himself. It’s better than the salted and dried rations they’re carrying so they take it without any arguments. 

Dinner is the goat and whatever could be found along the road during the day’s walk. It’s a good meal, better than they’ve had since they started this. In the dimming light of day, Brad listens idly as Ray prattles on, switching from one obscene topic to the next, partly for the Stone Monk’s amusement, and partly because he is unable of having a thought without letting it tumble out of his mouth. It’s one of his less appealing characteristics, yet Brad has reluctantly come to accept that he prefers Ray’s obscenities to the silent tension that otherwise fills everyone. 

The company stinks worse than usual, though Brad suspects he’s the only one who notices. Gentiles have different customs, and as he’s remarked to Ray on more than one occasion, that seems to include smelling like pig shit and sour sweat. He glances at the river now and then, wondering if he should bother bathing. It might not be good to smell different when hunting a dragon. This one may gobble up anything that doesn’t smell horrific. 

He’s half-tuned out Ray and so he doesn’t respond immediately to whatever’s said. Brad only knows he’s being addressed when Ray kicks at Brad’s foot, jerking a head towards the Stone Monk. “Fucking answer him!” 

The Stone Monk looks apologetic as he repeats his question. “Do you think we’ll find the dragon soon, or will we be chasing him another few weeks?” 

Brad shrugs a little. The honest truth is that Brad expects that the dragon will find them, and undoubtedly when they’re not ready for it. That’s the way with these things. He’s been sent to kill roving bandits and it was the same then - they chased them for a while until the bandits turned and made their stand. “Hard to say. When it runs out of places to ruin, it’ll start looking for something new.” 

“And then he’ll drag his big fat scaly dick over here and fuck us up next.” Ray says, his hands making the shape of what Brad assumes is meant to be the dragon’s cock, and he promptly puts on a show that leaves everyone but Brad and Trombley laughing. Brad’s seen this too many times to openly laugh, but he grins when Ray catches his eye, going back to plotting out where they will move next on the map. 

There’s another town a half a day’s march from here. Brad can’t see any fires on the horizon, but that doesn’t mean much of anything. The dragon could already be there and gone, the fires long since burnt out. Or maybe it’s nearer to them, slumbering and waiting to wake once night comes. 

“Extinguish the fires before sunset. We don’t need to make it easy for the dragon to find us.” He says, interrupting their prolonged discussion of dragon dicks. Brad could tell the Stone Monk not to write about anything that’s just been said, but he’s decided that since they sent the holy man with them, he can write about anything he likes, if he survives. 

That might be just what’s needed to make them reconsider saddling knights with a monk, just because his Majesty wishes to read something amusing. 

\--  
Three weeks and nothing to gain from it but a building tension between them all and a sorry assortment of aches and pains. The Stone Monk’s feet are covered in blisters and Lilley become insufferable to be around for any period of time. Everyone is miserable, and the only real bit of levity came earlier in the week, when the Stone Monk made a fool of himself when he smelled brimstone and thought it was demons instead of just the dragon’s leavings. 

Brad’s taken watch for the night, along with Ray. He doesn’t expect they’ll have the dragon come near, as the latest signs place the dragon a good day’s march away from them. But there are always bandits and thieves, and other knights who care far less about being noble (or appearing as such). 

The rest are asleep or at least lying quietly on the ground. The fire’s been out a good hour now and while the night is cold, Ray is warm for someone so scrawny, and they sit together at the edge of camp, a blanket wrapped around their shoulders. 

“I’m telling you Brad, when this is over, we should try get sent on a Crusade. Not one of the children’s ones though, those are fucking awful and you know how much I can’t stand kids, but a real Crusade. No more chasing after dragons or kicking trolls out from under bridges.” Ray’s quieter than usual, but no less rambly. 

Brad hmms but doesn’t reply. He won’t be going on any of the crusades anytime soon, not unless he converts and he’s got no interest in any of that. The truth of the matter is that religion means very little to him, and he has even less interest in trading in Judaism for Christianity. 

“And fuck ever doing another unicorn hunt. They shouldn’t do them with me around anyway. No maiden’s going to keep her head as long as I’m around.” Ray casts a glance back to see if anyone else is listening in. If they are, they’re all silent and doing a surprisingly accurate impression of sleeping. He sighs to himself. “My best material and I’m wasting it on you.” 

“It’s not your best. It’s fairly mediocre for you.” Brad reminds Ray and then sushes him. They both go quiet and watch as a rider makes their way through the dark. Must be a farmer since the rider knows the road well and doesn’t wander from it, even when there’s only a sliver of moonlight to guide the way. They both wait until the rider passes before speaking again. “Why do you even want to go on a crusade? They’re miserable and most people die.”

“Servian chicks man. Everybody who comes back alive says they’re wild. It sucks once you hit Constantinople but they say that’s the best part of the trip down.” Ray nudges his knee into Brad’s. It’s hard to read the look on his face when it’s so dark out. “They’ll fuck anybody.” 

“That’s good news for you.” Brad glances back at camp, listening carefully to everyone’s steady breathing before he returns the gesture. It’s probably safe enough for this, safer than most other times anyway. They can see the road from here easily, and they’ll go one after the other so there’s always someone able to pay attention. “But the last few crusades haven’t gone through Servia.”

“What? Fuck off. What are they doing then?” Ray gets a hand in Brad’s lap, pushing aside the surcoat and arming coat, finally getting into Brad’s underclothes and stroking him the way Brad likes. He keeps himself quiet while Ray talks, providing the kind of noise they need to cover this. They haven’t talked about this and Brad’s grateful for it. It makes it easier just to enjoy it, and to enjoy Ray’s company, even if his mouth runs like a broken dam. “Are they seriously running around Servia? That’s so far out of the way, why the fuck would you do that? Are they going through Hungry just to avoid Servia? Why the fuck do they hate good pussy so much Brad?” 

“Not sure.” He answers, quiet and a little terse as Ray’s hand strokes his cock. He’s quick and he’s good, talented from a lifetime of stroking himself. Ray’s probably been doing it since he was old enough to know he had a cock. Brad’s sure he’s not the first Ray’s done this with. He figures anyone who looked even slightly open has probably woken with Ray right beside them, his hand ‘accidentally’ on their thighs. He’s a welcome distraction and safer than seeking a partner, and Brad actually does like Ray, even if he has to often tell him to shut his mouth. 

Ray squeezes tighter and jerks Brad faster. It’s been about a week since he’s had a chance to jerk off and it’s a welcome change. He helps get his stuff out of the way, seeking around until he finds one of the rags he uses to keep his nose and throat clear. Ray may be content to walk around with spunk on his clothes, but Brad isn’t. He can feel the pressure building in his balls and he gets it ready, listening to the night around him. 

“I’ll tell you why, it’s because they’ve all gotten married off and saddled with bad puss that has important titles attached to it. They can’t stand thinking that guys like you and me might get good snatch, so they’re going to march our asses miles and miles out of the way just to make sure we can’t get laid.” Ray’s close, his nose all but pressing against Brad’s cheek. His breath’s hot and warm on such a cool night, and there’s a twist in his words that just makes Brad feel close to coming. “And that is some grade-A fucking bullshit. We’ve earned good pussy, we’ve fucking earned it.” 

He squeezes the base of Brad’s cock and that’s all he needs. Brad gets the rag where he needs it, coming with a soft shudder and a small grunt that Ray talks right over. It’s good, that real nice throb running from his groin all down his legs. He sags a little into Ray and for a moment, he actually can feel Ray’s nose and lips against his cheek. 

“You’re such an easy slut,” Ray says, and for a moment, Brad thinks that he might be deliberately touching his mouth to Brad’s cheek. The moment passes quickly, Brad sitting up again and Ray getting his hand off Brad. “How about you tell me what you’re going to do when it’s over?” 

Brad gets himself arranged again and returns the favour, snaking a hand under Ray’s underclothes. “I’m going to get as far away from you as possible.”  
Ray just laughs, loud enough to make the others stir. Brad gives him a look, though he’s fairly certain it’s lost in the darkness. 

\--

They arrive just in time to watch the dragon’s death throes. Everything is on fire and there’s a gash carved into the earth where it clawed at the ground, but there are surprisingly few dead, and though they stand far back from the flames, they can’t see a single wound on the beast. 

Turns out that’s because there isn’t. One of the peasants tells them the story while the dragon spews out a trickle of fire and then makes awful pathetic groaning sounds. The well water had gone bad and killed a few villagers and half a dozen sheep in the process. The dragon ate the sheep when it arrived, both the dead and the living. It had gotten sick soon after, and had done nothing but spit fire and tear at the earth as it grew weaker and weaker.

“Son of a bitch,” the Stone Monk says soft, like he’s afraid God will hear him cursing. The dragon chooses that moment to spit out some foul-smelling black liquid, die, and shit itself, all in that precise order. The stench was overwhelming, forcing the entire company back and away from the upwind carrying the ungodly smell. 

It’s the final nail in what has been a very heavy coffin. 

Ray finally breaks the silence, pulling his helm off and throwing it on the ground, just to kick up a small dustcloud. “Are you fucking kidding me? We spent four goddamn weeks tracking that asshole only so he could roll over and die just before we caught him? Really? Fucking really? All this time, just so we can watch that overgrown hellbeast shit himself! I spent weeks eating berries and taking water craps in bushes so he could eat some dead sheep and kill himself! What the FUCK?!” 

Ray’s pissed. Brad’s pissed too but he keeps his under wraps, letting Ray rant for him. Somebody has to take charge here. Better to let Ray handle the emotions. He’ll vent later, when he can afford to. 

“Half of you, go put out those fires, see if there’s anything left to salvage. You two, take the peasant, find that well and mark it so no one drinks out of it. Ray, with me.” He draws his sword and heads for the dragon.

“What are you doing? He’s already dead. Fuck, he smells like the old King.” Ray whines and Brad lets it drone on in the back of his mind. “Four fucking weeks, four fucking weeks-” 

“And you’re still alive.” Brad says as they finally reach the dragon, side-stepping the pile of black liquid slowly seeping in the ground. The dragon’s beautiful. His scales shine in the light. He must have been beautiful when flying. The beast’s still warm to the touch, scales so smooth under his fingertips. He takes his sword and slides it along until it catches on a scale. From there, he keeps sliding, wiggling until he prys one out. It changes as he tilts it, turning from green to blue and back. He offers it to Ray. “Here. For your mother, to thank her for nursing you rather than throwing you to the sows the moment after she squeezed you out of her birth canal.”

“Fuck my mother, I’m keeping this for me.” Ray shines it up on his shirt and he smiles at Brad - a real smile that shows for a moment before slipping back into his usual sort of smirk. “And don’t you fucking talk bad about the sows, they were the best aunts a boy could have, always sharing their scraps with me.” 

“That explains your table manners.” Brad scrapes off a scale for himself, tucking it away in his coin purse. Trophies taken, he motions for Ray to help him by holding the head steady. “Don’t let it move.” 

“What the fuck are you doing? You going to pull off every scale?” He does as he’s told, moving to grasp the horns of the dragon, even as he flaps his mouth. 

Brad just raises the sword and brings it down for the first of many slices, blood draining from the cut. “No,” he says between swings, each one falling where the last did, breaking a wedge in the thick neck. “I’m taking the King a trophy.” 

He might not be pleased that they killed the dragon themselves, but Brad feels sure that he’ll overlook it all so long as they present him with a trophy and ensure he never sees the mess the body left behind.


End file.
